


Domination Is a Control Freak's Weapon

by mister_moon



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Domination, F/F, Fisting, Hurt, Kink, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 18:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11064882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mister_moon/pseuds/mister_moon
Summary: Missy spends the night in the TARDIS. Clara tries to deal with her issues.





	Domination Is a Control Freak's Weapon

Clara moves from her bedroom to the bathroom. She brushes her teeth for exactly 4,5 minutes, rinses, then exits the bathroom into the TARDIS.

“What is this?” she asks, stopping in the middle of the control room.

“A day trip!” exclaims the Doctor as he moves around, never stopping always fiddling with that lever or pushing that button. “Or a night trip, actually. We’re going to the Abradax Califactory. There are beautiful quantum waterfalls, but also very strong magnetic currents in that quadrant, distorting the time stream. Best to go in slowly, so we’re going to spend the night in the TARDIS, be there in 8 hours. And you already wear your pajamas! Oh, you truly are the best of them!”

“No,” says Clara when he pauses. “I mean her.”

She points to Missy reclining in one of the chairs and the Doctor looks down guiltily, instantly admitting, as he sometimes does, that his cheerful obliviousness is just a massive act. He knew what she meant right from the start.

“We’re giving her a lift to a nice, secluded spot. It’s a mercy. Didn’t feel right to just leave her with the Daleks.”

“Mercy?! She doesn’t deserve mercy!” says Clara, feeling her cheeks flush, her agitation rising immediately. This is why she likes to keep her emotions under control; they’re always ready to spill. “All those people she converted! And she killed Danny!”

She didn’t mean to say that last part, but it rose to the surface too quickly, that desperate need to have her hurt acknowledged, too – a weakness that she always tried to suppress, that she hated herself for having, let alone for showing.

Missy makes a sound of outrage.

“I did not! I wasn’t even driving that car! Besides, he had a chance. He just wasted it.”

“He didn’t WASTE IT!” shouts Clara, throwing away all pretense of composure. “He SAVED A LIFE!”

She inhales deeply. Enough.

“And if you ever speak his name again,” she says, “I will find a sharpened stick and stab through both your hearts.”

There is silence in the room. Missy makes a face, says nothing.

“Right!” The Doctor claps his hands. “Glad we have that sorted out. Anyone needs me, I’ll be in my room.”

He vanishes in the depths of the TARDIS. Clara glares at Missy as she rounds the console, then goes to find her room.

#

She turns, tosses away the blanket, pulls it back over herself, sighs. Gets up.

It takes her fifteen minutes to find Missy’s room. There is light seeping through the crack in the door. Missy sits in a chair, motionless, looking out the window. Clara asked the Doctor once about what exactly the windows were looking over, but he just mumbled something about wanting to preserve the mystery. This one showed silhouettes made of stars, a humanoid one and some kind of serpent, fighting. Or maybe dancing.

“I’m surprised you can sit still for so long,” says Clara after a while. Missy turns and gives her a smile.

“It’s only the Doctor who has to constantly run around and act. I can spend millennia like this. I wouldn’t be able to do what I do without that.”

“Why do you do what you do?” asks Clara. “That’s what puzzles me.”

Missy inclines her head to the side, regarding her.

“Feeling lonely?” she asks.

“No,” says Clara, cautious now. “I just don’t understand. What’s the point of it all? What do you get out of that?”

“I think you are,” says Missy standing up, all poise and grace, and purple dress. “Danny sure wasn’t adequate company.”

“Shut up,” says Clara, clenching her fists. The anger rises again inside her. “I warned you not to speak his name.”

“Oh, Danny boy,” half-sings Missy. “Danny, Danny, Danny. I’m really surprised you lasted that long with him. I mean: talk about boring!”

“Shut up.”

It’s not that she repeats his name. It’s that she’s right: Clara knew, even on that first date, that it wouldn’t last. That Danny meant safe and staying in, when she wanted to go out and bite the biggest chunk of life she could. That she was already making up reasons to leave him, even as she smiled and kissed him, even as she told herself that it was fine. It wasn’t. He was boring. But he was also good and kind, and loyal, and no one had the right to speak of him that way.

Especially not her.

“Seems like I touched a nerve,” gloats Missy. “Is it perhaps that I’m right?”

“Shut up, you bitch, you bloody – fucking – bitch!”

She slaps her. Words are not enough. She slaps her, and then starts hitting her, all across her chest and shoulders, pushing her towards the wall. But already there’s a voice inside her saying no, you can’t, calm down, the Doctor said, you can’t, and she knows it’s right but doesn’t want to stop, and something twists inside her head and she starts kissing her instead.

She’s kissing Missy sloppily, just smashing lips against that face, drawing her head closer, moving in with her body. Her hands want to do something as well, so she grabs the collar of the shirt, tears it open. Pauses long enough to pull her own tank top up and out of the way, then resumes ripping and tearing, until Missy stands naked before her, her body bird-like, thin and angular. Clara sucks her neck, grabs her pointy breasts, roughly, pinching, squeezing.

Missy smells faintly of burning metal and gunpowder, an acrid smell that drills into Clara’s nostrils. Clara sighs, her lower body tingling. She pushes down her loose pajama bottoms, pulls Missy’s hand between her legs, to cup her cunt.

“Someone’s desperate,” murmurs Missy.

Clara pushes her on the bed.

“Quiet.”

She’s on top of her now, kissing again, biting. She sees the blue eyes looking, wants them to stop. Presses her hand roughly into Missy, finds her ready and open. Pushes two fingers in, drawing a gasp.

“You like that?” she asks quietly. “And this?”

She adds another one. More. She wants to get to Missy, to know she’s hurt her – or at least made her feel something. She pushes the rest of her hand in. And out. And in, feeling the wet softness inside, then taking care to move the widest part of her hand out, brushing past the labia, before pushing it back in. She sees Missy stretched, open, legs splayed, arms thrown wide. She hears the gasps getting louder. She moves her hand in. And out. And in, through the abundant wetness. And out and in, until Missy arches her back and moans, her voice suddenly higher-pitched than usual.

She clamps her thighs on Clara’s hand, falls back. Relaxes.

Clara moves her slick hand out. There is a small, desperate part inside her that hurts for contact. She straddles Missy, looking for the right spot, the bony hip. Grinds her clit on that sharp ridge, riding it, and it hurts too, but better, she rides it until her nerve endings flare inside her, until she’s dark and empty once again, and the desperate part’s still there, and she’s crying now, clutching that warm, light body that doesn’t move to embrace her or push her away. Covers it in tears and saliva. She doesn’t care. Then, when she stops trembling, she gets up, wiping at her eyes, and gathers her clothes.

As she moves to the door, she sees Missy lying on her side now, looking at her cooly.

“I like to watch when people break,” she says.


End file.
